The town of New Bark had always been quiet. Too quiet, if you asked Kael.
Most mornings, the sky yawned into a pale blue and the wind carried the smell of wet soil and the tangy sweetness of ripe Sitrus berries. It was peaceful—idyllic, even—but it never felt alive the way Kael imagined cities like Goldenrod or Ecruteak would be. He had read about the noise, the bustle, the way street battles would break out between confident trainers and curious challengers. He had even memorized the subway routes in Goldenrod, even though he had never once stepped on one.
Today, though, that was about to change.
Kael stood at the edge of Route 29, the dirt road curling ahead like a path into an unwritten story. The sun was lowering behind the hills, casting long shadows through the trees. A soft chirping chorus of Hoothoot began to rise as dusk crept in. He adjusted the strap on his backpack, which bulged with provisions—Potions, Repels, a collapsible tent, and the worn map his father had once used. A Pokégear blinked softly at his wrist, its message icon still pulsing with unread weight.
Morty's letter had changed everything.
"Kael,
Your father's last Pokégear transmission has been recovered.
Come to Ecruteak. There's more to his disappearance than we knew.
— Morty"
Seven years ago, his father—a passionate and promising Pokémon trainer—had disappeared during an expedition to Mt. Silver. No body, no evidence, just a final Pokégear ping somewhere near the icy summit, then… silence. People whispered theories. Some said wild Pokémon overwhelmed him. Others claimed he was caught in a landslide. The more dramatic townsfolk insisted he'd uncovered something "he wasn't meant to find." Kael's mother never spoke about it. She just kept going, planting berries, smiling through the ache in her eyes.
Kael didn't get to leave home at ten like the other kids. He couldn't. He was needed. And somewhere along the way, he stopped thinking he'd ever get the chance to leave at all.
But now, Morty had stirred something long buried. Hope. Curiosity. A flame that had almost gone out.
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a Pokéball. The red light shimmered in the fading sunlight. With a soft click, he released the Pokémon inside.
A silver-furred Eevee stretched before him, eyes blinking against the evening glow. She had a sleeker body than the average Eevee, her fur glinting with a metallic sheen that hadn't been there when he first found her, alone and trembling near the edge of Route 29 two winters ago. He'd named her Echo, because of the way she always responded to his voice, no matter how softly he spoke.
"You ready?" he asked.
Eevee yawned wide, then gave a sharp nod.
They walked together into the tall grass. Pidgey fluttered overhead, and a lone Sentret darted into the underbrush. A familiar kind of excitement bubbled in Kael's chest—something he hadn't felt since he was a child pretending to be a trainer with a wooden stick and a plush Poké Ball.
But he was one now. For real. Echo at his side. The journey begun.
They had barely gotten a mile into the route when the grass rustled to the left. Echo's ears perked, and she growled low in her throat.
He didn't hesitate. "Ready, Echo—Quick Attack!"
A flash of silver fur streaked forward, colliding with the wild Rattata that lunged from the brush. The impact sent the small rodent tumbling backward. It squeaked and fled, vanishing into the dusk.
He exhaled, adrenaline buzzing in his fingertips. "Nice work," he whispered, kneeling to ruffle Echo's head. She leaned into the touch, tail wagging.
He looked ahead. The path still stretched long and uncertain, but somehow, it didn't feel so daunting anymore.
As night fell, he set up camp beneath the shelter of a broad-leaved tree. The fire crackled softly, throwing shadows across his tent. Echo curled beside him, twitching occasionally in her sleep. He stared into the flames, the letter from Morty resting in his lap.
Ecruteak was still days away, and the terrain would only get rougher. But he wasn't worried about wild Pokémon or even harsh weather. What unsettled him was something deeper—something he couldn't quite name.
What could Morty have seen? What did the final transmission say?
He turned the Pokégear over in his hand, its edges worn from years of disuse. The transmission hadn't come through his father's device. That much Morty's message implied. Someone—or something—had recovered it.
His mind raced with possibilities. Had his father survived? Was he still out there, somewhere in the shadows of Mt. Silver? Or had his spirit reached out from the other side?
He looked up at the stars.
He had waited seven years for this journey. And if it took another seven to uncover the truth, he would walk every step. Because if his father had reached out—no matter how faint the echo—Kael was going to find him.
Even if he had to walk through fire, snow, or shadow to do it.